


There Have Been a Lot of Interruptions For You and Me

by taking_sweet_time



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Feelings, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taking_sweet_time/pseuds/taking_sweet_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry almost kiss four times.  They try again a fifth.</p><p>In other words, a lot of run-on prose with nothing spoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Have Been a Lot of Interruptions For You and Me

It's a waiting game for everyone the second the two of them meet. Everyone – quite literally everyone – takes one look at the boys and either thinks or says, quite unashamedly, _It's gonna happen._

The thing is, no one knows when it will happen, other than that it will be soon, and no one’s all that stressed over how soon. Except for Harry and Louis, because this is happening to them.

It’s a waiting game for them too from the moment they meet. Louis looks at Harry for the first time, standing two spots ahead of him in line at Wembley, and he can’t help but think that hey, curls are a good thing, even before Harry turns around and Louis can get a glimpse of his face. But then he does, and Louis gets a glimpse of his face, and things are kind of set in stone for him from that moment on.

Harry looks at Louis for the first time in the lavatory, and he can’t decide if that’s strange or endearing but then he decides it’s endearing, because. Well. Louis’s knuckles hit the water of the sink at an odd angle, and Harry’s dumb polo and little dimples hit the water at an odder angle and as Harry flinches Louis’s eyes widen, because Harry doesn’t know that Louis’s heart is skittering in his chest like a blown lightbulb, but then it’s Harry’s heart’s turn to skitter, because he looks at Louis and sees blue and dark and tiny and then he’s thinking, hey, boys can be pretty too, and then the stone is hot and set for him, too – at least, when it comes to Louis Tomlinson.

It’s almost funny, the way things just seem to work out from that moment on, the crying on one another’s shoulders, the awful rejections that give them the excuse to be a lot more affectionate and touchy than they should be, and then someone on the Judges’ panel must have seen the stone, set and hardening, because they lumped the two of them into a very permanent band together with three other boys who see the stone perhaps as well as anyone else.

The first time something almost happens is in rural Cheshire, when the boys and _the boys_ are all shipped off to the middle of the lonely countryside because if anyone’s to be honest no one knows what to do with the three lovely boys and the two other lovely boys who are too busy tripping over the loveliness of one another to accomplish anything. Not even the three boys know what to do with the two boys, because the next thing _the boys_ know, they’re being crammed together into the only bedroom in the bungalow and Niall is cooing at them through the door while Harry packs both of their bags into the dresser; if Louis tried they’d wind up with socks floating in the swimming pool. Harry makes sure to tell him this, and Louis isn’t all that concerned with hiding his blush. He’s the opposite of concerned when he notices Harry’s.

A lot has been said; discussions about divorce and sisters and the difficulties of coming out, but the thing that hasn’t been mentioned is the thing that’s set in stone, and somehow Harry doesn’t think it needs to be brought up, because it’s just kind of there and Louis knows it and Harry knows it and, and they both know that they both know it, and that kind of mutual stone is more than enough for the boy who likes curls and the boy who likes the pretty, and really, nothing needs to be said.

It’s kind of funny, the way the three boys keep trying to force the happening of the two boys, like the way Niall leaves the room with a grin whenever he and Harry are together and Louis walks in, or the way Liam fails so exuberantly with his nonchalance when he asks Harry and Louis – just Harry and Louis – to run to the service station to fetch firewood. When Zayn lets a fake yawn through his mouth and toddles inside at six in the evening, leaving Harry and Louis to dangle their legs in the pool, the two boys can’t help but roll their eyes, not looking at each other but each knowing what the other is doing, because, you know, set in stone.

They take turns splashing water at one another, just shy grins on Harry’s part and gasps of mock-outrage on Louis’s part until Louis traps Harry’s right ankle between his legs and jerks him into the water. Harry’s quick enough to grab Louis’s hand and yank him right down with him, and Louis should have seen it coming but it still takes him a moment to come to, and by the time he does he’s a lot closer to green eyes and dark curls than he remembered, and yeah, he still thinks curls are a good thing. Harry still thinks boys can be pretty.

The water floats his gangly limbs and hey, how did his hand get there, to Louis’s waist? Neither really has to ask. Louis suddenly doesn’t mind being so small, he likes the way Harry’s big hand feels on his little hip, all warm and gentle and tentative, whispering little taps of _Is this okay? Is this all right, I want this to be okay, I want you and me to be okay_. And it’s never been so okay before, and somehow Louis’s fingers have found the fingers on Harry’s other hand, and wow, Harry’s lips are kind of pink and pretty, and he isn’t going to pretend that he never noticed before, but wow, he thinks that they’d be quite nice to kiss.

Harry’s eyelashes are short and dark and damp with chlorine and when he blinks his eyes turn soft and seem to glow in the dark night and he’s biting his lip, and if he knew what he was doing to Louis, would he stop, or would he keep doing these stupid things? Then, Louis’s whispering something along the lines of, _You know what’s gonna happen now, right?_ And if this were a romantic comedy or a fairy tail Harry would probably come up with some witty chat-up line and sweep Louis off of his feet but all he can do is nod, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut tight, lets his heart skitter on and he tastes mint and tea and honey on Harry’s breath when a clueless Niall raps on the sliding glass door, jerking them apart before Louis can so much as kiss Harry’s cheek. That’s when Harry learns it’s possible to hate a leprechaun and that’s when Louis learns it’s possible to hate Harry for being too fucking perfect for a hasty happening.

 

~

 

The second time something almost happens, Louis is fed up and Harry is anxious, because there are only so many excuses one can think up for holding his best mate’s hand, and they’ve both crossed a lot of them off the list.

The thing is, Harry really likes the way Louis’s little hand fits the dips between his fingers, and Louis really likes the way Harry’s hand cradles his like a hug, and they really don’t hold hands enough for either boy’s liking. Again, it’s not something that needs to be said. It’s just set in stone.

Harry holds Louis’s hand when Louis pours milk into his tea, because he might drop the jug, and Louis holds Harry’s hand whenever the band watches a movie, because something scary might happen (even in a chick flick) and you just never know. Sometimes Harry holds Louis’s hand when it’s chilly in the bungalow, because what about frostbite, and sometimes Louis holds Harry’s hand because he allegedly forgot how many knuckles were on a finger and needed to know right now.

The other boys think it’s some kind of joke, at first, a private game that only the two of them know about, but one night – their last night in the bungalow they’re all walking to the MacDonalds that sits at the end of the road, and Harry just scoops up Louis’s hand without a word. Louis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask for reasons or for excuses because at this point he doesn’t need one, and that seems to be the queue for the other three boys to hurry inside and fetch the meals, leaving the boys to wait alone by the road.

Harry’s thumb is tracing these soft little circles over Louis’s palm, and even though Harry’s hair has nothing to do with the way their hands are linked, he’s still thinking, hey, curls are a good thing, and they drift together like a pair of weak magnets until their arms bump and he squeezes Harry’s hand tighter.

At some point, his stomach bubbles with nerves and he simply thinks, hey, I’m holding hands with a really nice bloke with really nice lips, and Harry must think the same thing, because suddenly he’s nothing but anxious eyes and a shy, bitten mouth and he’s just as scared as Louis is, but at the same time this is pretty great. Harry asks – he _asks_ – if it’s okay to kiss him, and Louis sort of blanks at this, because of course it’s okay, and they both do the nervous-laugh-thing but it dies in Louis’s throat the second he feels Harry’s hand on his cheek, and oh dear –

He curses under his breath when he hears Zayn’s voice drifting out the door a moment later, calling them inside.

 

~

 

The third time something almost happens, they’re in Spain, and the moment is so perfect it’s almost painful. They’ve just found out that they’re moving on to the live shows, that they’ll be each other’s rocks solidly for at least another couple of months, and oh, the butterflies, the butterflies swarming. The sun is setting, so bright and warm it’s nearly blinding, and it’s just the two of them sitting on the rocks looking over the side of the mountain. They’re holding hands – one would be hard-pressed to catch them _not_ holding hands – and their feet are bare, Louis’s tiny and slim and like a fairy’s and Harry’s clumsy and smooth and white from the pool they’ve just left. Their toes somehow keep nudging each other. Neither boy has said that any of this is okay, but neither boy needs to. Set in stone.

Boys can still be pretty, Harry finds, and Louis still thinks curls are a good thing when he tells Harry that he’s scared, scared for the competition lying ahead, and when Harry tells Louis that he has the most beautiful voice in the world. Still pretty; good thing. Then Louis’s saying, _Third time’s the charm_ , and Harry grins wide and shy and dimply, and Louis thinks that finally he’ll be able to kiss his boy, his Harry, when Simon hollers for them to pack their things; they have to leave early tomorrow morning.

Harry shakes his head, sad little smile on the pretty pale face.

 

~

 

The fourth time something almost happens, it’s a good thing that it doesn’t, because Louis is stupidly drunk, Harry is tipsy and fluttery, and they’re surrounded by about twenty-two other people, all intent on congratulating them for reaching the finals. They’re happy, though, and music is playing, so of course Louis scrambles onto Harry’s feet and tucks Harry’s neck into the crooks of his elbows because shorter triumphs taller and also Louis just wants to touch as much of Harry as he can.

Thankfully, the twenty-two have met these boys and, just like everyone else, they see what’s been set in the stone, and no one is very surprised when Harry latches his arms around Louis’s waist with a stupidly love-sick grin and Louis tucks Harry’s stray curls behind his ear and lets his hand linger on Harry's cheek for much longer than necessary.

Curls are a good thing. Even after two and a half months, not a single thing about almost kisses or soft eyes has been said, but still, nothing needs to be said. Harry looks at Louis and sees everything he needs to know and Louis looks at Harry and sees everything he needs to know, and one of the things they both know is that they’re both okay with this, they’re both okay with each other, they both want this, this thing that’s been set in stone. Boys can be pretty too.

Louis’s pissed and laughing and he almost breaks his head open over a glass table as he rocks back and grins into the sky, but it doesn’t even need to be said that Harry’s caught him, smiling and soft and entirely too in love as he tucks Louis against his chest, murmuring he won’t let him go, and that’s when drunk Louis starts to cry and tells Harry he wants to kiss him. As Harry looks around at the curious eyes it takes him everything he has to tell him no.

 

~

 

The fifth time something almost happens, something actually happens, and it isn’t until Louis’s nineteenth birthday comes round. Harry’s family is huddled beside Louis’s family around a cake glowing in the dark of Harry’s living room because a Christmas Eve storm blew the Styles’ shitty fuse box, and once Jay asks Louis what he’s going to wish for and Louis sends a fleeting glance to Harry, the candles are blown as well and Daisy is crying because she’s scared of the dark. Harry holds Louis’s hand under the table.

In the middle of the night, both the boys are hosting the butterflies again because this feels like turning the last page of a book, like knowing you’re about to uncover some incredible secret. The thing is, Louis and Harry have known what the secret is for months now – they just want to hear it spoken. Curled in Harry's obnoxiously neat little bedroom bedroom with Louis’s hand tracing circles over Harry’s hip, Harry asks Louis what he wished for, and Louis tells Harry that he wished he would fucking kiss him already, and it's almost comical how unromantic the whole thing is – until Harry figures out how soft and warm and lovely Louis’s mouth is and Louis figures out the same thing, and yeah, this is romantic.

Set in stone.

 

~


End file.
